Women do Christmas. We decorate the house, or nag our spouses into helping, and we make lists of the people who expect presents. Women take the lead on any holiday parties we think are necessary. And mostly, women have a load of guilt about the holidays; we think about those in-laws and relatives and friends, the work posses, the newspaper delivery guys,the cleaning lady, the neighbors. And we keep remembering what our own mothers did. We can't possib;y measure up. All of our connections need affirmation at the holidays. So an army of us go out to the the malls and stores and on line to shop. If women stopped doing holidays, our economy would expire.
This morning I ventured out to my local Walmart super center in search of some lights for the porch, toys for the grandsons, and stocking gifts for the local family. I parked a long distance away from the store because the parking lot was packed.
Patting my shopping list, I enter the store through the automatic doors and I smell the fat globules emanating from the Mc Donald's right inside the entrance. Immediately, I feel very ugly, verging on overweight (though I am slim). I seem to have become one of a mass of very fat flaccid people. Many of them are elderly (as am I!) We are all of here in a massive building, lighted with no thought of whether it's day or night. We all have our own agendas, and, judging by the sour expressions, none of us is happy to be here. The aisles are narrow and there are so many obstacles in the way- carts of merchandise, octogenarians studying the price tags- so there is much bumping of carts. Everyone is rude when this happens. I make a joke to a ferret of a woman shopping in the mens' pajama department. We have been circling in the tiny aisle, trying to avoid each other. She is rude and crude to me, no stretch to accommodate our mutual desires and no shred of a sense of humor. I select my pajamas and move on to kids' underwear.
After the underwear, I need to get some "little guys" for the first-grader on my list. There is a whole aisle of these and most of them seem so violent or horridly strange! There are several other "grandparent" couples in this section, their heads up high, looking down through their bi-focals to read the fine print on toys that mystify. But when I ask them in a friendly way if they know anything about Galactic Heroes, they regard me as if I were some kind of pervert, and quickly move on. They have no concept of "true toys",I guess, but I know they are doing their best.
By now, I am beginning to hyperventillate. I think I may be actually in Hell. I move toward the checkout, hoping I can remember where the car is parked. As I swipe my debit card, an elderly man approaches the check-out, breathing heavily and clearly panicked. He has lost his wife in Walmart. He needs to have her paged in the intercom: "Marie, come to checkout #7! Wally is waiting for you there!"
I am through with my Christmas shopping! If anyone is now not accounted for on my shopping list, they will have to make do with good wishes, pine cones from the forest,oranges from our trees and something home-made.
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